


The Seven Chairs

by Shadowlit



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Attempt at Humor, Gen, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I just want to get this out there so i can get on with the next part, I should go to sleep, This Is STUPID, ahahaha what's staying in the right tense, and hope someone reads it, fluff?, i have a spanish quiz tomorrow, i have no idea what this is, instead i stay up till 1:30am editing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlit/pseuds/Shadowlit
Summary: The stories of seven chairs and one demon.Yes, you read that right. Now please shush, it's difficult to type with chair legs and we don't wish to waste more words on things-that-are-not-the-story.





	The Seven Chairs

In a dark corner of a cellar in some ancient church itself within a weary, long-forgotten village filled with ghosts were seven chairs. Even while the church and the land succumbed to the earth, and nature climbed the crumbling walls and slumbered in the once-grand halls, the seven chairs never rotted. The chairs were frozen in time, remaining as pristine as though they had remained down there for a day or two instead of the years it took for wood to rot and rock to crumble.

  
Finally, there was nothing left of the church except a few old stone steps leading down into the earth, and even those were so overgrown and shattered they were barely recognizable as steps. The village had long since been destroyed by the elements.

  
The chairs themselves were quite simple. One could almost mistake them for a common chair, one that would be pulled out at the table, holding people who talked and laughed and ate and lived. A chair that you wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing in an average house in a small country town, with a church and a post office and a few hundred people. A chair that had been well-loved and well-used by many hands.

  
Hundreds of years after the chairs had been left in the cellar and the village emptied, a small team of amateur archaeologists stumbled on the steps. They carefully dug out the earth blocking their path, the miner in the group teaching them how to shore up the crumbling walls and move forward. Each step they took echoed through the earthy confines, and the chairs tensed with anticipation.

  
It took fourteen steps, 6 shoring posts and wood, and almost a whole day to reach the bottom. By then, most of the chairs were near vibrating with excitement. It had been so long….

  
The team had reached the end of the tunnel, where there was nothing but a rotting door. As they approached it, the door fell backward, hitting the stone floor and instantly shattering into small splinters of rotten wood and a few bugs. The sound made most of the archaeologists jump in surprise, and one (who was much too tall for this) whacked his head on a protruding stone and knocked himself out. The team quickly raced out of the place, leaving the disappointed chairs inside to sit a little longer.

Finally, they walked in, feet thoroughly crushing the remains of the rotten door.

  
Inside were...seven chairs, neatly arranged in a circle. The chairs looked as though they’d just been moved in here, not one that had been sitting in a dark, wet cellar for who knows how long. The excavators stared, jaws agape at how utterly ridiculous this was. They had come down here for ancient artifacts (and treasure, some hoped), not seven freshly-made chairs that some idiot had left down here!

  
...How long have the chairs been here, exactly?

  
In the end, the team carried out all the chairs out rather than leave them there to “rot” further. They tossed the chairs on top of the rest of the things they’d discovered (which really wasn’t much, to general disappointment). The team still had a lot of time to use, so they began using the chairs as actual chairs, singing campfire stories sitting on top of them, toasting marshmallows, doing the normal things one’d do when camping. (Well, it was now a camping trip. The team would later argue that they were merely testing the chairs out, and the ground was really quite uncomfortable to sit on, so why not use these clearly perfectly working chairs? And it wasn’t like they had anything else to do….)  
When the team left the excavation site, they sold the chairs to a museum, who proceeded to display the chairs as perfectly preserved some-years-old chairs. Which is exactly what they were.

  
Thirty years after the chairs were discovered, they were sold to a church somewhere in Ireland. After all, nobody wanted to look at some thousand-year-old chairs in the museum that looked like ordinary chairs. And the world (the country, at least) was very, very preoccupied with more important matters than the discovery of seven chairs that didn’t rot. They were probably covered in wax or something, the science world dismissed.

Moving on, we have bigger problems to work on.

Nobody thought to check the cellar from whence they came, but the cellar had collapsed anyway, seconds after the chairs were removed. (The poor man who was far too tall almost hit his head _again_ but swore up and down that the chair stopped him.)

  
Now perfectly happy in the church, the chairs began a strange habit of disappearing, then showing up in some unusual place such as an unused supply closet or in the middle of the hall for no discernable reason. The scientists didn’t notice or care, but the nuns at the church did. They believed that the chairs had been enriched with the power of God and His strength was what gave the chairs their strange powers.

  
Deciding this religious reason was enough, the nuns used the chairs as...chairs. They were present at the sermon on Sundays, they were often used as chairs in the confession rooms, they held the cook’s tired legs in the soup kitchen. Sometimes a worshiper would attempt to sacrifice to the chairs or something of that sort, but it was considered the highest compliment to the chairs to sit on them. Or rather, to be allowed to sit on them, because it was generally agreed that the chairs were somehow aware and would find a way to get revenge if you disrespected them. Their favorite was falling on your head, but close seconds were dumping rotten milk on you, dropping no less than twenty glitter bombs from the church roof, having all the chairs fall on you at once, flowerpots with roses growing in them, or one memorable time when they did all of the above at the same time to one cruel fool who carved his name into the second chair. It was difficult to clean up, but it was certainly worth it.

  
Not only that, but the older nuns there could often tell you which chair was which and where they went the most. For example, the third chair preferred the bustle of the kitchens, the fifth the sermons (usually holding the pastor), the seventh….well. Let’s not talk about that.  
The chairs were always somehow present at every major happening. Six of them, at least.

  
The seventh one hadn’t been sighted for a very, very long time.

  
Some years or so after the chairs had been bought by the church, World War II began. The church, being in a neutral country, was perfectly fine, but the nuns within were...displeased with the war was a mild way of putting it.

  
The war ended, and the seventh chair was finally found in a supply closet that hadn’t been opened in quite a while. There was a simply absurd amount of dust, though. When the custodian opened it, he was buried up to his neck in dust and the singular chair tumbled out beside him, miraculously dust-free. (The nuns chalked it up to God.)  
More years passed the chairs by. People died, plants grew, the church too began crumbling, bit by bit becoming the old church that locked them in a cellar. The cycle continued.

One day, they were present at the attempted summoning of Satan. That was a weird day, but suffice to say a cult had gotten it into their heads that the best spot for an attempted summoning would be this church, with quite peaceful and easy-to-take nuns. Of course, the nuns fought like they were going to be thrown to the Devil - which they were - but the cult was large and strong enough and managed to take the church before anyone could be called. They didn’t have a telephone anyway.

  
The seven chairs were used to seat five poor nuns and two friars down in the cellar, each one well tied to the chairs. Stolen candles were arranged in a rough circle around the shivering people, forming a makeshift spotlight. All the better for the stunt the chairs were going to do next.

  
While the pentagrams were drawn and the candles lit, the chairs silently vanished. The entire cult turned around and stared at the empty spot where their sacrifices once were, baffled and angry.

  
The first one sent the Chinese nun to China, where she landed in a Buddhist temple. She rather quickly chose to be a disciple of Buddha, the Christian church having rubbed her the wrong way for ages, but she had never had the money to leave.

  
The second one was sent to South Africa, where she had a chance to become the teacher she’d always wanted to be. Soon learning the native languages there, she later became renowned for her skill in teaching English.

  
The third one was sent to Iceland, where he managed to meet his family for the first time in many years to his great joy and delight. Plus, Iceland was beautiful, and the third chair would never admit that it spent a long time touring the glaciers and the mountains.

  
The fourth one ended up in India, where she later married a young millionaire and lived a happy life helping others as best she could. There was nothing very notable about it, aside from the fact that she married a millionaire.

  
The fifth one ended up in France, where it hovered for a few seconds before settling down to the floor. The nun it bore was one of the two sacrifices happy to be in the monastery, and the chair didn’t stay in that new church for longer than a minute or so. The chair quietly enjoyed the peace, though, and promised to go back there once its time at that place was over. (It did, and found to its chagrin that it still ended up being used for all duties chair-related.)

  
The sixth one was simply teleported to a random supply closet on the west side of the church, since he loved the place as well. The sixth had always been the kindest.

The seventh one...well, nobody’s sure where the seventh chair went. It had a habit of disappearing into strange places. Legend says it could talk, and had vanished straight into a man named Harris Burdick’s room, where he then used it as inspiration for many strange and wonderful drawings, though only one out of the chair’s tale had ever been shown to anyone. (The friar it had was found on the very top of the spire the day after the attempted cult summoning still tied up, and had had a hell of a time getting down. The seventh chair would never be seen again by that church.)

  
Time has passed but the chairs still live on, each now and then in various places; South Africa, India, Iceland, China, Egypt, and countries that people have forgotten about or never heard of. For example, the sixth chair spent some time learning Spanish in Andorra. They scattered to the far winds like leaves blown away, and only ever reunited to meet a demon that wasn’t one, but that is a story for later. For now, this is a beginning.

  
More time passes, but the chairs are not worn away like people do. Things change, names change, death occurs, world events happen, science moves forward, religions shift. Eventually they stowed away on spaceships and flew to new worlds with new people in need of chairs.

  
They will continue until the universe is compressed into a singularity and a new universe begins. And so the cycle goes.

But first, the Transcendence happens.

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for the cliffhanger but i literally wrote this in one night straight and i need to sleep  
> gravity falls in the next chapter i sWEAR  
> and probably as much editing as i can handle because eh. well  
> weird update schedule because school for the win


End file.
